Wednesday, November 30, 2005

A squirrel is just a rat in a cuter outfit. -- Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City

In honor of the holiday season, I will post this story as a warning to all who travel out of town for holidays.

I used to live in Fayetteville, NC in a very sketchy and run-down ground-floor apartment. I always joked that I might as well live in a tent in my yard because everything that lived outside, also lived inside with me: mice, roaches, spiders, various large wormy things...you name it. Little did I know how prophetic this statement would become. I was very, very broke at the time since I had just graduated college and was teaching high school. Only my hot Cuban neighbor made this living situation bearable. (Remind me to post about the hot Cuban neighbor.)

I was packing up my car (the very, very sad-looking 1989 Dodge Colt Vista, which is something you would expect to see filled with--please excuse the stereotype--14 Mexicans) to drive home to Virginia, so I propped open the kitchen door while I was loading.

OK, fast-forward 5 days later, when I'm returning to my apartment in Fayetteville. I grab a couple bags out of the back of my hatchback and I open the side door to go into my kitchen.Then I had a heart attack. Omigod. What is that???

There is a dead squirrel on my kitchen floor.

My brain is flooded:

Did I just see what I think I saw?How the f--- did it get in my house?Why is it in my house?How do I get it out?Can you call animal control when the animal is already dead?That is totally disgusting.I hope it doesn't stink.Well, I guess it is the best type of flooring for dead animals. It's easy to clean linoleum.Am I going to have to get a rabies shot?Don't they give those shots to you in the stomach???

Then I did what any young, panicked woman does. I called my mother. Keep in mind that reaching my phone involves going back into the kitchen. (I didn't have a cell phone at the time.) Stepping on the floor is totally out of the question, because all I can envision is the dead squirrel springing back to life, hoisting up my pants leg, only to attack me and repeatedly bite my shin--starting at the ankle and working its way up, all the while making a sickening chomp! chomp! chomp! sound as it slices through my flesh with its long, germy rodent teeth. So, instead, I leap from the doorstep up onto the kitchen chair, teetering on one foot as I reach across the table to grab my phone. I pivot on my tiptoes and leap back down and out of the house. Standing in my yard, I call my mom.

Me: Mom, this is not funny. Seriously, what do I do?? [At this point, I'm seriously doubting the last four years of my life, as my very expensive history degree is totally useless in rodent attack situations.]

Mom: Duh! Get a broom and sweep it out.

Me: Oh. Right. Hey, do I have to get a rabies shot? Do I have to fumigate my house or something? What if there are rabies germs everywhere?

Mom: Just go get the broom, VB. And calm down. Sheesh! It's just a squirrel.

Me: Yes, but it is in my house. And it's dead.

Mom: Well, I don't know what else to tell you. Just sweep it out.

Me: Then there will be a dead squirrel in my yard.

Mom: Isn't that better?

Me: Um, yes. Ok, I'm going now. Pray for me. [click.]

Again, I teeter on my kitchen chair to jump through the kitchen to get to the closet where I keep my broom. Then I jump back onto the kitchen chair and prepare to sweep the dead rodent out. I can only imagine what I must have looked like. Anyone watching me through the kitchen window would have seen me performing rather acrobatic leaps on my furniture, all the while staring intently at a spot on my kitchen floor and wringing my hands. So as my broom reaches the squirrel, I can tell that this squirrel is a lot heavier than I expected. You'd think that they wouldn't be that hard to sweep out. Just a bunch of fur, right? But I have to use a little bit of force. That is because the squirrel is sopping wet. Ewwww. Oh God, why is it wet??? Where did the water come from? I will figure it out when I get it outside.

As the squirrel nears the doorstep, it BEGINS TO MOVE. IT IS NOT DEAD YET!!! It is in some kind of water-logged stupor, because it is not moving as quickly as I had feared. That is not to say that my heart rate isn't about 400 beats/minute at this point. I am completely freaked out. I scream bloody murder and swoosh the squirrel out with one last frantic push. It flops into the yard. Thank you, thank you thank you.

Now it's time to assess the damage. I need to know:

How did it get in?

How did it get wet?

How long was it in here?

What did it want?

Where did it shit?

What did it chew on?

Is it alone or did it bring its buddies over for some beers?

I decided to go room-by-room. Aside from the wet spot on the kitchen floor, it appeared to have not spent any time in the kitchen. I was surprised to find none of my food was chewed or eaten. Good.

Next, the living room. I looked at my couch. What if it was a pregnant squirrel and it made a nest out of my sofa stuffing and had little babies and they are embedded in my cushions?

Thankfully, this was not the case. Whew! Living room looked good.

Spare bedroom where I keep my clothes: clear. Whew! Gosh, maybe it didn't spend any time in my house at all.

Then, I went into the bathroom, where I found out how it had gotten wet. There was water all over the floor. That was because somehow, the squirrel had gone swimming in my toilet and managed to climb back out of it. That, to this day, amazes me. I know it was in there, because there was a bunch of dirt at the bottom of the toilet bowl. I wonder how long it struggled to get out of the bowl. How the heck did it do that? No wonder it had collapsed, stupefied, on my kitchen floor. It was probably thinking, Must....get...out....need...acorns...can't...get...to...door...

Ask me how grateful I am that it DID get back out and I was not dealing with Can I flush a dead squirrel?

Only one room left: my bedroom. Apparently, the squirrel selected my bedroom as the only room where he went TOTALLY APESHIT. There is a path of destruction which encircles my room. It starts at the door, where you can see it decided to SHIT IN MY BED. I love it. It could have shat anywhere in my apartment, but it chooses my friggin bed. (FYI: squirrel shit is relatively easy to clean--it is pellet-like. Sort of like rabbit poo.) After that, it decided to get tangled in my mini-blinds, because they are all askew and mangled. Then it apparently lept to my dresser (Why, I don't know. Maybe he wanted to get gussied up to prepare for my arrival home?) where it knocked over several breakables, only one of which was damaged. Ok, that is not so bad. Oh, but it knocked over the trashcan too. Oh, but it did all of this after the toilet saga, so everything is also wet. Grrreat.

After calming down, I finished unloading my car and cleaned everything up. Then I spent about 3 hours trying to figure out how it got into my apartment in the first place. I never did find any holes in the walls or ceilings which would explain his entrance. I was puzzled. Then, a few days later, I came to my conclusion: It must have entered my apartment when I loaded up my car because I had the kitchen door propped open.

So, kids, the moral of the story is, never ever ever leave your door propped open when you are loading your car!!!!!

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

I think this guy is living with my roommate's sister in Australia. The similarities are scary. There is even an entry about tea towels, which Bigfoot leaves on the countertop, where they begin to grow moldy.

Bigfoot is not quite as bad as these girls, but he is pretty close. And gayer.

Monday, November 21, 2005

No way. Why should I change? He's the one who sucks. --Michael Bolton, Office Space

Here is a pop quiz about my Stupid Roommate. Let's see how you do. I bet it's better than he would do.

1. A better nickname for him would be... a) Bigfoot b) The Big Loser c) What's That Smell? d) What's That Noise? e) all of the above

2. Which of his behaviors is the most disturbing? a) He apparently never washes his hands. Ever.b) He puts his feet on the couch and kneads the cushions with his bare, toe-cheese feet. c) Until moving here, he lived with his mother his whole life. He is 38. d) His "friend" looks like a cracked-out David Bowie with 4 pound cheek implants . e) all of the above

3. The most inconsiderate thing Bigfoot does is... a) uses/eats all of our stuff without asking or buying his own b) wakes us up every morning with his big stomping feet and 532 decibel voice c) breaks our stuff with his monster-grip handsd) cooks everything "stinky-style" and then doesn't air out the house, so the house constantly smells like nasty, greasy food e) all of the above

4. What makes Bigfoot clueless? a) Despite our lack of eye contact and verbal acknowledgement of his presence, he doesn't realize we hate his guts. b) He never leaves the house and then wonders why he isn't meeting any friends here. c) He loves "Desperate Housewives", yet ironically doesn't realize he IS a desperate housewife. d) He goes to the gym for 15 minutes per week, comes home to fry something in oil and wash it down with a crueller or two, and then wonders why he can't seem to lose weight. e) all of the above

5. What has earned Bigfoot the title, "The World's Most Annoying Human"? a) Every time he enters a room, he sings, "Do-tee-do-tee-do..." b) He breathes through his mouth. Loudly. Sort of like he's constantly panting. c) He doesn't clean out the lint filter of the dryer when he is done drying his clothes. Ewww. d) Everytime you are leaving to go somewhere, he says, "Mind if I tag along?" e) all of the above

6. Only one of these statements is false. Which one is false?a) He buys economy-sized groceries, knowing full well that the fridge has to be shared with three other adults. Despite our pleadings, he continues to occupy 3/4ths of the fridge space.b) His room smells like.....just stench, really. Sort of like stinky socks. Air fresheners are not strong enough. Trust me, I tried. c) He has been stood up on about 7 dates. d) He has jokingly offered to let us borrow his anal plug. While we were eating. e) Actually, these are all true statements.

7. Thanks to Bigfoot, his roommates are no longer at liberty to... a) walk on the kitchen floor without shoes on (his toe-cheese stinky bare feet on linoleum!) b) do all of their laundry in one afternoon because he will intersperse your loads with his own.c) find any of their kitchen utensils because he refuses to put them back where he got them from. Also, if you were to find them, they would probably be dirty because he is always cooking his stinky food. This is because his life revolves around eating.d) Come home in peace and quiet because he runs out of his room like a puppy when you come home wanting to know how your day went. e) all of the above

8. Other puzzling behavior includes... a) He bought a ton of paper plates, yet does not use them.b) Hacking up a lung every morning in the bathroom. Yes, there is phlegm. No, he doesn't close the door. No, he doesn't smoke. Yes, you can hear it on the other side of the house. c) He has absolutely no sterotypical gay-guy traits, so he is completely useless to me. :) d) Constantly wearing sleeveless t-shirts which allow his arm/shoulder/chest/back hair to shine in its full glory. e) All of the above.

Answer key: If you answered e, you are correct! Good job!

And now for the FAQs portion of our quiz.

Q: So, why don't you just say something to him?

A: Oh, we have. We have asked, implied, left notes, pleaded, used sarcasm, yelled, hidden things from him, eaten HIS food, screamed--everything. He is either lazy or stupid, we can't tell which. The good news is, he will only be here until March. Hopefully.

Q: Why don't you just move out?

A: I could, but I would lose all of my fun money since living alone is expensive. Also, see quote at top. He will hopefully be leaving in March. Hopefully.

Q: How do you not kill this man?

A: I will not deny that I have been tempted to buy duct tape. And large knives. Just kidding. Um, I guess if I killed him, I would have to go to jail and I don't think I can do my blog from there. Also, isn't there some saying about how great writing comes from great suffering? Oh, and prayer. Daily prayer. You think I am kidding.

Q: So, Athletic Girl feels the same way?

A: Mysteriously, her level of annoyance has not reached my peak as of yet. But it's steadily rising, especially in laundry-related issues. I tell her she doesn't want to see him writhe in physical pain, pleading for mercy from ye gods because she is never home, whereas I have had more direct contact hours than she. Plus, she went to Hawaii last month, which I believe just makes life easier in general.

Q: Why don't you just try and stay away from home more?

A: There are only so many places you can go for so long before they kick you out and you have to go home. This explains my gym/shopping frequency.

Q: Can you drown your sorrows somehow? How do you vent?

A: Unfortunately, I do not drink alcohol. Instead, I shoot myself up with smack every morning before leaving my room. Just kidding. I actually pop about 4 valiums. Ok, I don't do that either. Somehow, I don't think it would help. I'd probably just talk about it more if I were drunk/wacked out. Instead, I vent here, make up songs about him, whine to my friends, do impressions of him...stuff like that.

Q: Has his presence impacted your social life?

A: Let's just say I don't throw dinner parties anymore.

Q: Does he know about this blog?

A: No, but that is a great idea! Maybe I should print this and give it to him....Man, I wish I could just be really really mean and do that. Dang!

Q: Anything else to add?

A: He used my computer before he recently got his own. What did I find in my web browser history? Manhunt. There's a site. If you want, check it out. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

That, of course, is the Devil's bargain of addiction: A short-term good feeling in exchange for the steady meltdown of one's life. --Daniel Goldman

A couple months ago, I flew to Washington, DC. I had not been on a plane in several years, so I have to admit, I was a little excited about traveling on a "big bird". (insert any easily-amused blonde joke here). Some people are really good packers. I'm the girl who needs 8 suitcases for a weekend. I delude myself into thinking I will have nothing to do at my destination. Or I will magically lose 10 pounds, causing me to need my skinny jeans. Also, I live in fear that my trip will be absolutely decimated if I don't bring 43 things I might need if the Special Situation happens. It could be anything from I could get invited to a cocktail party while I'm there. to I won't have anything to do--I'd better take 4 books just in case. And that is why it takes methree days to pack. And then, I will forget something obvious, like my toothpaste.

So, since I had not flown in a while, I created even more horrible situations in my head, the main one being, I will be stranded in an airport for 6 hours without food.

Never mind that there are always places to buy food in airports. I have to bring a small, travel-proof buffet with me in my carry-on. One of the items I decided to pack was of course, candy. For those of you who don't know me personally, my name is Virginia and I'm a candy addict. Once I ate two pounds of Jelly Belly jellybeans in a24-hour period. I only stopped because my supplier ran out. I literally had withdrawls.

So into the side pocket of my carry-on I shoved anything I might need mid-flight: a book, a handful of miniature Reeses' peanut butter cups, a granola bar, an apple, a bottle of water, a map of Dulles airport and two magazines. Keep in mind this flight is only an hour long. Yes, I am ridiculous. It's a good thing I don't have to travel for work often, because I just wouldn't make it in the shark-infested waters of regular business travellers. They'd eat me for lunch. I'd be airport roadkill.

After lugging my stuff across a very very hot parking lot into the airport, it was eventually time for my flight. As I'm boarding the plane, I found out that my carry-on had to be checked. Apparently, this particular plane was smaller than most. So I had to scramble around and dig out something to read and eat at the last minute. Carrying a magazine, the water and the apple, I settled into my seat. Although I was pretty annoyed about having to check my bag, it was a minor inconvenience which Iquickly forgot as soon as I saw my seatmate. He was cute, friendly, single....and sitting right next to me! If this was flying the friendly skies, I need to start cashing in my frequent flier miles!

We began talking and flirting. We had a lot in common and there was some chemistry. He was visiting family in Ohio and had a couple hours between flights in Dulles. I told him my brother was picking me up at the airport, but since it was Friday rush hour, I was expecting to have a little bit of time to kill as well. Right before we got off the plane, he said he was going to go grab a beer at the airport bar and invited me to go too. I said I'd love to. I grabbed my stuff and stepped off the plane to meet back up with him. He took one look at me and said, "Hey, have you been eating chocolate?" Puzzled, I said I hadn't. He said, "Well, then what's all over your shirt?" I looked down. There was chocolate ALL OVER my shirt. It was one of my favorite shirts to boot. Dang it! How did this happen?? Then I realized. The magazine I had been carrying had gotten some of the melted candy on the back cover and when I grabbed my stuff, I managed to smear it all over myself. Fabulous. I hastily dug around in my suitcase for a jacket to throw on over it. When I looked up, the cute guy was gone! And there I was, with sticky chocolate all over me, literally wearing my addiction. It had finally caught up with me.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

I understand a fury in your words, but not your words. --Shakespeare, OthelloMy home phone number used to belong to a man of Hispanic descent. His name is Luis, I think, based on the messages left on my answering machine. Apparently, he owes people money, because it is always banks or businesses calling. You'd think that the English-speaking, squeaky, white-girl voice on the machine would prevent them from repeat calls. Sadly, this is not the case. But I have grown used to the "Habla Espanol" representative from Bank of America. I have not yet fully understood the personal phone calls, though. You'd think he'd keep his friends and family up-to-date on his phone number.One day, I came home from work and checked my messages. One was from a Spanish-speaking woman who sounded somewhat older. Perhaps it was Luis' mother? I couldn't understand the message, and was not about to make a long-distance courtesy phone call to California. I began to decompress from a long day when the phone rang. It was who I assume must have been Senora Luis, for lack of a better name. Now, I have a few rudimentary Spanish phrases under my belt, but it still escapes me why she would begin a phone conversation thusly:"Bueno? Luis?"Last time I checked, hola would have been a more appropriate greeting, but whatever. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number!" I said. A bunch of Spanish words followed. Since I didn't know how to respond, I figured I had nothing to lose, so I hung up. Ok, now repeat what I just said about three times. This conversation was never going to die. I was living a real-life Lost in Translation/Groundhog Day. Bill Murray would have been impressed. I would be having this identical conversation until about midnight EST if I didn't do something. So I dusted off my limited Spanish vocabulary and began to fight back. With words I barely understood. The phone rang again."Hello?""Bueno? Blah-nito la blahblah Luis espanola habla habla...""Senora? Hola. Lo ciento, no Luis acqi. Lo ciento. Buenos noches!"

Quite impressed with myself at roughly communicating the message I desired--and politely, no less!--I thought that would be the last of Senora. But it wasn't. She called again. Each time, beginning with "Bueno?" I cannot think of a single reason, at least in Gringo-land, why anyone would start a conversation with "Good?"

So this time, I simply bombarded her with what must have seemed a cocophony of broken Spanish: "Hola, Senora. Lo ciento, Luis es no acqi. No amigos acqui. No amigos a mi casa. Lo ciento. Por favor, no mas. No mas telephono, si? No mas."

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

In a heated argument, we are apt to lose sight of the truth. --Publilius Syrus

How would you feel if your good friend put you in a really bad situation so he could pay his bills? Would you be understanding? For how long? What if they hadn't always been a very good friend to you? At what point do you value money over friendship? Is it always inexcusable, or does everyone have a breaking point?

My buddy, I'll call him Charleston Guy (CG), called me last night. We chatted for a bit when he asked me if I was speaking to the Landlord yet. The Landlord used to be one of my best friends.Used to be.

About a year ago, my lease at my old apt was up, and he had a spare bedroom in his house. So I moved in, and he moved out (he took a job elsewhere). Although I had my reservations about mixing personal life with money, it was a great win-win situation. He needed the rent money from his tenants to pay his mortgage, and I wanted cable and DSL. For a while, it was just me and Athletic Girl, who is a great roommate. For a while, a really nice guy lived in the Landlord's room, but it was just temporary. I knew the Landlord was finding tenants for the third bedroom on the Internet, but so far it was working well. And I hoped he would pick good people. I was his friend, after all.

Then, one day Stupid Roommate came by to look at the place. I instantly hated this guy. (I will post about him later so no tangents for now). Now, I have a tendency to be very apprehensive and opinionated about certain...lifestyles. I was raised in a very WASPy home, and it took its toll. (Ok, ok, I can be a close-minded asshole. There, I said it.) But SR's lifestyle is the least of my problems. His annoying habits far far outweigh any personal activities in which he might partake. But that is beside the point. I figured that since the Landlord knew me pretty well he would know that I would more than likely have a problem with this guy and not rent to him. I didn't think Landlord would actually go through with it before asking if that would be ok. But he did.

Last month, Stupid Roommate moved in. And I have hated being at home ever since.

My response was along the lines of, "How can you value your bank account over your friendships? I would never do this to you. Then again, I wouldn't buy a house I couldn't afford and make my friends bear the brunt of my mistake." I'm not going to get into details about what was said, because it was pretty ugly. Ok, it was really ugly. There were some telephone hang-ups involved. And some yelling and personal insults. Yeah, that kind of ugly. Most of it coming from me.

Sidebar: This was not the only source of my beef with Landlord. A couple of times in the preceeding months, he had said some rather not-so-nice/insensitive things about my father being ill (my father passed away a few months after he said those things) and my mother, whom he has met once. I had gotten upset with him those times too. I eventually got over it, although I don't recall him ever apologizing. But I have a long memory when someone hurts me. So, I was already wary of Landlord's behavior/lack of sensitivity coming into this situation. I had some basic trust issues with Landlord going into this conversation about Stupid Roommate. This is sort of the straw that broke the camel's back.

So, no, I'm not on speaking terms with the Landlord. Do I feel bad about it? Not really. I still feel the same way, although I'm no longer in a rage about it. You could say I'd be open to talking to him, but not nearly ready to forgive and/or forget. And I haven't moved out, either, since I love my location and can't afford to live alone. But I'm getting really good at not being at home, which is kind of the same thing.

You're trying my shoes on for a change.They look so good but fit so strange.

--No Doubt, "Sunday Morning"

This is a tale of role reversal. Normally, I can say I behave in a manner which befits a lady. This weekend was not that time. I ate too much, I smoked too much. I had questionable morals. And it was everything I hoped it could be. Yes, dear readers, it was Bad Girl Weekend. I have decided to allow myself to have such a weekend every so often. Repression is never a good thing.

I picked an action-packed weekend to get re-acquainted with my inner college student: three dates, some football watching and plans for going out with friends to our favorite hangouts. Just in time, all my nails broke and my face broke out like a 12 year-old. Perrrrrfect.

Let me begin with Friday...

Second date with a really funny and talkative guy. His name rhymes, so I'll call him Dr. Seuss. Little did he know he was really taking out Bad Girl. (insert sinister laugh and vigorous rubbing of hands here). He took me to The Rhino Room, which is a pretty swanky bar. Not your typical go-there-every-weekend bar. We had a drink and then headed over to Hennessey's for dinner. It was also a nice place. Great food. I had plenty of time to eat it because Dr. Seuss completely dominated the conversation. It is impossible to get a word in edgewise. Now, I believe you can learn more with your mouth shut, but come on. This guy just likes to hear himself talk. Conversations are supposed to involve two people. This was like having dinner with a verbal fire hose. Suddenly, a crazy thought crossed my mind: Oh my gosh. This is how men must feel when women won't shut up.

Oh, this was only the beginnings of the role reversal. After dinner, we were both tired and decided to make it a Blockbuster night. We both like horror movies. The irony of it strikes me only now, but we rented The Grudge. Later on, I would form one. Against him. But I digress. We went back to his apt where I got to see his decorating style up close and personal. It was very in-your-face and hard to take in all at once, sort of like him. There were lots of big, hard, sharp and breakable objects. No softness, really. It was all very nice-looking, but uninviting and lots of things seemed to be placed at wrong angles and awkward positions. I noticed a large (I'm talking 15 lb. jar) of creatine on top of his fridge, expensive skincare in his bathroom and a Kama Sutra book on his bedside table. At this point I'm thinking This must be how guys feel when they see pink lightbulbs and leopard print everything in a girl's apartment. What kind of message are they trying to send? This feeling overshadowed the remainder of the evening. I may form a new theory about male interior decorating. But that is for a different post. So I attempt to get comfortable on his bright red brick of a couch. Some snuggling. Decent movie. The end credits roll...and I began Bad Girl Weekend. (I'm not going to kiss and tell, so give up that pipe dream right now!) I will say it was PG...ish. ;) At that time, something about him was still bugging me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I just wanted to get out of there. After making out with him, of course. As we were leaving, I noticed a book, The Truth About the Irish. I told him I almost bought that book the other day (It turns out we are both of Irish descent). He let me borrow it. Again, the irony was apparent only later.

He dropped me off. On his way home, he lost his mind.

Meanwhile, I got a last-minute call from a friend's brother (we'll call him Kermit). His date to the football game (South Carolina vs. Florida) had to cancel, so he was calling to see if I was free. Actually, he was on his way to my house. ETA: 10 minutes. Well...what could I say? I hopped in the shower. Then we went to the game. This was the first time I had really hung out w/Kermit one-on-one. It was also my first USC game. We had a blast! He is very funny and made me feel really welcome and comfortable. He was not at all a jerk like I had originally thought. I told him that and then immediately regretted it, because he ribbed me about it the rest of the day. I replied by informing him that this was not a date.

We partied at a Cockaboose with some of Kermit's coworkers. Although technically I was his date by default, we are just friends. He even went so far as to tell people he felt "no chemistry" when we met. Gee, thanks. But I guess we are even now for my jerk comment of earlier. Aside from fielding "So, how long have you two been dating?" questions, we had a blast! I met a whole new crew: Funny Party Guy, FPG's girlfriend, Blonde #1, Blonde #2, and my friend's ex (MFX), who is dating Blonde #2. I was not expecting to run into MFX, but that's how this town is--after three years, you pretty much know someone everywhere you go. I proceeded to begin smoking and eating junk food upon arrival. Ah, Bad Girl Weekend. Then it was time for the game, so Kermit and I went up to our seats. That's when things got awkward for him. Because we were sitting directly behind his ex. And her husband. (I'm telling you, this town is small!) I told him later I would have played along if he had introduced me as his girlfriend. But we still had a good time. Kermit is one of those guys who doesn't mind answering all the dumb girl questions about sports, and I appreciate that. But I can follow football decently enough. And this was a great game. It's a good time to be a Gamecock fan.

After the game, we went back to the Cockaboose. Everyone congregated there to decide the next step in the victory partying. It was not looking like the group would be heading to the part of town (the Vista) where my friends, The Nurses, were going to be. So I was in the middle of deciding what to do and who to call back when Dr. (now Crazy) Seuss called. I told him it was kind of a bad time, and could I call him back tomorrow? He got off in a huff. This must be how guys feel when girlfriends get mad at them for going out with the guys. But I didn't really have time to think about it much, though, because we were leaving to go to Cock's Corner (really just a parking lot with a band) and I didn't want to leave the Nurses hanging. So I was telling Kermit about all this, and he said he would talk to the Nurses and tell them he had kidnapped me. Or at least that is what he told me he said. Off we went. We went to Rockaway's for a while--again, my first time going there. Another cool place. Known for great burgers.

The Football Crew is awesomely fun. It was one of those great nights where everyone is having a great time and laughing so hard you feel you might get a hernia if they don't stop saying hilarious things. We all said we have to do it again this weekend. I can't wait. So this is why guys go to games all the time. Although this week, there is no way I will get tix because it is USC vs. Clemson. That's ok, the Cockaboose has closed-circuit TV. Yesss!

I was really tired, and Kermit had to drive back to Greenville, so I was home around 10pm. I had just washed my face and put on my pjs. I was getting ready to do one of my favorite things ever: fall asleep in front of the tv. That is, until Dr.Crazy Seuss called. This must be how guys feel when their girlfriends are really clingy and call them when they are exhausted. He told me how "my" man had won an arm-wrestling contest that evening and how he wanted to come by and "give me a goodnight kiss". The following thoughts instantly hit my brain:

Why did I answer my phone?

You are not my man. We have been on two dates.

You really did lose your mind on the way home, didn't you?

I have no makeup on. (I try to keep up the I-really-look-like-this illusion for as long as possible with new datees.)

That is evidence of clinginess, which is a big turn-off.

No.

No.

No.

He was really dead set on this, and the more dead set he got, the more annoyed I became. Then, his true colors (funny, they look just like red flags!) began to show...

Dr. Seuss: I'm feeling blown off.Me: I'm not blowing you off. I'm tired, I smell like bar and I'm really about to go to bed.Dr. Seuss: I just want a kiss.Me: I just spent all of last night with you. That was your time. I set the whole evening aside for you.Dr. Seuss: I'm getting the feeling you are dating other people.Me: That's true. I am talking to some other people.Dr. Seuss: Well, I don't compete for women. And I don't like feeling like I'm an appointment you have penciled in on your calendar.Me: Well, that's too bad. I'm a busy girl. I thought we had a pretty good time, but if that's how it is...Dr. Seuss: Yeah, that's how I work. If I'm going to be with someone, I expect them to be with only me. That's how you focus on the relationship and get to know someone.Me: Yes, eventually. Not after two dates. This must be how guys feel when women give them ultimatums.

And the conversation was all downhill from there. He hung up on me. Oh no you di-dant! I called him back and said I did nothing to deserve that. He denied having hung up on me! I didn't buy it for a second. Ah, so this is how it feels when women play "No, nothing's wrong!" I said if he was as interested in me as it seemed, he never would have hung up on me and he certainly wouldn't have pressured me into doing something I was not ready for. He backpeddled. His possessiveness and need for total control became really evident. That's what was bugging me! He always had to be in control and force himself upon me whether I liked it or not. That's why he was always Mr. TMI, that's why his furniture was so loud...it all made sense. He suffers from personality rape syndrome. And the ultimatum he gave me did not win him any points. All it did was irritate me. Two dates? You want me to put all my eggs in one basket after two mediocre dates where you talked my friggin ear off? Puh-leez. Relationships should not be that difficult to get off the ground.

He has called me twice today. I did not answer my phone, but I listened to my voice mail. I was under the impression that we were over, but according to his message, that entire conversation never took place. How's that backpeddling for you? I'm keeping his book. Boy did I learn the truth about the Irish!

Prediction: He will randomly call me three weeks from now using the book as an excuse to get his foot in the door with me.

The next day, I did not go to church. Bad Girl doesn't do church. She doesn't go to the gym either. She eats donuts for breakfast and sits in her pjs until 2pm. Then it is time for the third date with Small World Guy. He is called SWG because he and I have lived in all the same towns, went to the same school, know some of the same people and go to the same gym. (Hearing that Twilight Zone theme song yet?) Somehow, we had never met. SWG and I went to Liberty's, one of my favorite hangouts--great food. SWG is an attractive, nice guy and needless to say, we had a lot to talk about. Well, he did. I basically interviewed him. I know about his family, his dad's love of history, some crazy partying he has done, what life was like in each town... I stopped listening after about 10 minutes. I am chalking it up to nerves. He is a nice guy, so he will get a second chance. But I was not feeling much of a spark on either side of the table. Hopefully, because he is cute, next time there will be some flirting and question asking from his side of the booth. Or else this isn't going to work either.

Prediction: his flirtier, question-asking side will remain MIA and he will become a friend who will watch IU basketball games with me. And will hopefully introduce me to his cute friends.

Of course, I was not done being bad just because it was Sunday afternoon. Of course, I had to stick it to someone about the Florida loss to USC. I only knew one Florida fan. The Big Ex. Carrie had her Big, I have my Big Ex. What better way to be bad than to call an ex? It's so unhealthy and self-indulgent. (Those are Bad Girl's favorite words). We talked a couple months ago, but it did not go that well. He said I had called at a bad time. This time, it was a great conversation. It was great because of what was left unsaid. The things we would say to each other if we didn't care about getting hurt. The implied compliments. The vaguely supportive comments. The off-handed way we asked about each other. The seemingly laid-back tone of voice. And the telling silences. It was a great conversation. We might see each other next month at a mutual friend's house.

After that, I went to dinner with the Nurses. It was great to catch up with them and share all of our busy weekend adventures with one another. Blonde Nurse told me about the new guy she's talking to and the one she has on the side. She played it off like they were just friends, but we called her out! Brunette Nurse whipped out not one but two packs of cigarettes out of her purse after dinner! Brunette does not smoke. I did a double take. It turns out I was eating dinner with Bad Girls!

Friday, November 11, 2005

It seemed appropriate to begin with my mom. It brings feelings of birth and beginnings, which is really what this post is all about. Unfortunately, I am not totally done with deciding what I want this blog to be. I've wanted to start a blog/creative writing project for some time now, and unfortunately, in order to reply to my friends' posts on their blog, I had to sign up and start my own. Now. Way to throw me into the deep end, Blogger. No time like the present, right? I have held my proverbial nose and decided to just jump. But swimming alone is not that fun. So I figured I'd include the reader in on my thought process. You can help me gel my thoughts/goals for this blog. I invite you to be my invisible, somewhere-in-cyberland guide. Maybe give me some ideas....feedback....or advice. Which I will need, since I don't know jack about HTML. (Until further notice, do not expect anything fancy!) XX, since you and XY will probably be the first and only readers for a while, I will probably be giving you a call. About computer stuff. As usual.

Here is what I'm thinking: I'd like to do something along the lines of Carrie Bradshaw (SATC) meets Bridget Jones' Diary. I assure you I am more Bridget than Carrie! Think of me as Carrie's shoe in Bridget's mouth. Yeah, I'm a smooth one. Nine times out of ten, the question I will be asking is, "How did I get myself in this situation?" I will discuss not only dating (or, in my case, a lack of dating) but also the other aspects of real life. So I'd like to bring you stories of my adventures in....life. It's more than men, more than friends, more than family. I will share stories of my stupid roommate, stupid job and stupid car. Thankfully, those are the only stupid things in my life. That is, as long as all three of my dates this weekend go well....(more later).

Eventually, I'd like this to be a half-real blog. By that I mean this would also be a creative writing project for me. So the other half would be a novel--with input from my readers, of course. What do you think?

Finally, I would like to give a plug to a great blog--Dating Dummy. Ladies, he's sweet, he's funny and he's lookin' for love. Problem? He's got a girl and he lives in Cali. Oh, that and he doesn't know I exist. Sort of like high school! But he provides so much insight into how the other half thinks! And his blog is great! I have learned so much from him--how to create suspense, what to share/not share, how to incorporate comments without alienating the new reader, etc. I could go on and on, but I have to go figure out how to get this posted before I leave work today...hmmmm.

I look forward to a beautiful relationship! Until next time,Virginia Belle

About Me

I'm laid-back, outgoing, practical, high-energy, friendly and happy. Unless I haven't had my coffee. I enjoy meeting new people and learning new things and trying new activities (things that do not resemble camping or put me at risk for bodily harm, that is.) I'm opinionated and cynical and sarcastic, usually to a fault. I'm a little on the type-A side...but I'm honest and trustworthy and affectionate. I'm close to my family and friends. I try to be well-rounded and get the most out of living here while maintaining a sense of humor and looking for the ironies of life. I am currently trying to find my way and learn the ropes of being a full-time working mom and wife. It would be a lot easier if I didn't get myself into predicaments.